The Hunt
by ZENxRaider
Summary: They could never outrun him, never escape him, or the malice he carried. It was time. Oneshot, OC


It was cool, the wind bristled through the trees in the dark of Skyrim's night. The grass beneath his paws was cool to the touch, the breeze sending the hairs on his back standing on end. He sniffed the air once, twice. They were close, but moving quickly. Had they picked up they were being tracked? Had he gotten too close and spooked it off? No matter. They could never outrun him, never escape him, or the malice he carried. It was time. He could feel his blood boiling, his pulse pounding. He licked his chops in anticipation, the coarse, tough tongue running along rows of long, sharp teeth. He panted with zeal. Not long now. His claws itched to dig into something soft, something juicy. It was right there, not even a mile through the forest. But he had to be patient. His hunger would be put off if a quick kill became a tedious pursuit. He looked to his right. He could tell his companion felt the same blood-lust. She, who had turned him in the first place, she who was the first to welcome him into their little family, who taught him the true ways of the hunt, and how to relish every second of it. She too looked as beastly as he. Her eyes were yellow and narrow, burning with anticipation. Her arms and body, though not as broad as his own, still possessed that same strength and power that many rightly feared. Her legs, however, were far more chiseled and pronounced. She had much more experience, nothing could outrun her. He knew that if she went at full speed, merely keeping up would be damn near impossible.

They were beasts, hunters of the night, and they were starved. They locked eyes. On the outside, their maws remained agape, unchanging. On the inside, they were smiling. They knew the time had come. She descended on all fours, taking off into the night towards they quarry. He followed close behind, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Oh how he loved this feeling, the thrill of chase. It had only been barely a year, and he had developed into one of the Circle's best and most powerful hounds. Tonight, their prey would sate his hunger. They would not stand a chance.

It had barely been a minute when the stink of fear maddeningly spiked. They knew. They knew they were being pursued, but how they picked up upon it was a mystery to him. No matter. They may be powerful, but they were slow, lumbering, and hardly quiet. He could feel it now, the thundering of their feet as they struck the earth. His jaws were practically salivating, the drool leaving short trails in the air as he rushed forward. Soon they would claim their prize. The bellow of their panicked cry echoed throughout the trees, scattering smaller prey and birds from their resting places. They could see them now! He looked up towards his companion. She veered off to the right, her target clear. He picked up the pace to even out with her.

In near perfect unison, the hunters pounced, their claws and teeth bared, snarling for the inevitable blood-lust. He ripped and tore at the tough hide of his prey, a massive, but smaller than average, mammoth. It thrashed and trumpeted its anger, trying to impale the werewolf with its shining tusks. It spun round, knocking into trees left and right as it struggled to throw the monster off of its back. But he held strong, refusing to let go of the sweet, tender flesh between his jaws. Finally, the beast rammed itself up against a boulder. His head struck hard, momentarily digging his teeth even deeper into the furry pachyderm's flesh, but the shock caused his jaws to go rather slack. It didn't take long to lose his grip. He shook his head and jumped to the side before the beast could impale him against the rock face with those dangerous tusks.

She fared similarly. She aimed for the mammoth's caretaker, a giant of similar youth. Tonight they had been fortunate. Giants and their beloved mammoths were among the most valued game for their kind, and one of the most dangerous. Most hunters would not even dare to approach a giant, let alone attempt to slay one. And the ones who were brave enough, or stupid enough to try didn't last long. That point was driven home as the giant, bellowing in rage, swung its club wildly at the she-wolf before him. She ducked and evaded, the strikes surprisingly quick and well placed. One swing was lucky, knocking her in the side and sending her sprawling across the ground a few yards away. Slightly shaken, she stood on her hind legs, taking a deep breath to dispel the discomfort and pressure in her lungs. She looked over the giant, wondering how he was taking his right of passage. The young were far easier than the herds their parents tended to. She smiled as she sniffed the air. There was fear, oh yes, like any animal backed into a corner to be forced to fight for its life. But there was also rage, a barbaric anger she knew all too well. And that was something to be concerned about. It gave him strength, it gave him focus. It gave him hope, and that was something she could not allow.

Hoping to unnerve him further, she let loose a tremendous roar, the call echoing out across the forest for miles. For a second, only a second, the giant faltered, and she knew she now had the upper hand. Dropping to all fours once more, she bounded towards him, intent for the kill. Time seemed to slow for the two combatants. He swung angrily, wanting to end it quickly. His partner was in dire trouble. She was growing impatient as well. She hadn't expected one so young to fight so selflessly. The club sailed home, and she dropped to the ground. But he didn't achieve victory; he had only struck air. With his arm and club out far to the right, it was the opening she had counted on. Pushing her strength into her hind legs, she launched herself at her prey, her teeth closing around his neck. The vibrations from his cry rattled her jaw, the sensations almost unsettling. Almost. With a crash, he hit the floor, his strength quickly leaving him. In resignation, he closed his eyes, a silent apology ringing out in his ears.

In a moment of rage, the furry elephant forgot about the wolf he had thrown against a rock and turned to the one kneeling on his master's corpse. He trumpeted his fury and charged at the demon responsible. She smiled mentally. Not much longer now. Almost lazily, she jumped away as he thundered by, her partner hot in pursuit. Realizing he had missed, the mammoth turned to charge again, only to find the first wolf in mid-flight, his maw agape and aimed for his neck. But it wasn't the neck the hunter had sunk his teeth into.

The elephant threw his head back in agony; the werewolf had latched itself on its face. The hunter brought his claws up and grasped at the mammoth's head, hanging on tight as it swung and heaved left and right. With his claws now in place, the wolf went to work hacking away with his teeth. The mammoth stumbled back and forth, running into trees and rocks alike as it tried to block out the pain. Soon though, the pain faded as shock settled in. He grew weary as his knees weakened. Blood poured from his ravaged skull. Mere seconds had passed since the wolf began his mauling, but it felt like a lifetime. With a deep groan, it fell to its knees, the life in him slipping away. With one last call of defiance, the great mammoth collapsed, still as the trees that surrounded him.

The wolf removed himself from his prize, triumph coursing through his veins. It had been his most difficult, and easily most dangerous kill since he had joined the companions. Standing at full height, the fur eventually regressed, the snout and teeth shrinking. In the wolf's place stood a man, tall and dark, with dirty blonde locks falling to his shoulders. He was unarmed, garbed in merely a loincloth, a sheen of sweat blanketing his torso. He turned at the sound of soft footsteps.

Standing with him, with a small but proud smile on her face, was his partner. Aayla was similarly unarmed, her usual bow left behind for the night's unique hunt. Her clothes left little to the imagination, serving only to cover the more important bits. As she drew closer, she spoke his ear.

"Satisfied?" she said with a teasing tone.

He returned his smile. "I don't know. The night is still young, and I think now I found an even better target."

He drove that thought home by reaching around and giving her a little squeeze. She jumped and smiled maliciously. "If you can catch me, love."

With that, she took off into the trees with him in hot pursuit. Their quarry could wait, the hunt was still on, and he loved every second of it.

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**A/N **Hey guys. Thank you to all who gave this little fic a read. It's my first shot, so please review. I always found the werewolf an interesting feature in the games, and wondered what went through the minds of those who could actually control the power. Might be AU with the at-will transformations, but oh well.


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